Tom Riddle Drabbles & Short Fiction
by Jalen Strix
Summary: A collection of drabbles and short fiction centering on Tom Riddle/Voldemort, inspired by the Hogwarts is Home livejournal community. A variety of genres will likely make an appearance, but drama promises to be the most common.
1. Things Worth Hearing

**Things Worth Hearing**

 _Tom Riddle learns something useful from Walburga Black. Written for the challenge of "Gossip", with an excellent Alice Roosevelt Longworth quote as additional inspiration._

* * *

I glanced up at the irritated harumph that wafted across the common room. Wallie Black turned abruptly on her heel and stalked away from the tittering seventh year girls she'd been trying to impress.

She had never learned finesse, that one. Still, she knew things. And opportunity was clearly knocking.

"Wallie doll, why so glum?" I watched as my lop-sided smile infiltrated her defenses, crumbling her facade.

She shot a venomous glare back at the seventh year clique. "I just…hate them _all_. Stuck-up dingy little twits."

"Well, kitten, if you haven't got anything good to say about anybody," my smile curved broader, "come sit right here by me." I patted the space next to me on the green velvet couch.

Her eyes crinkled as she laughed and sat down. "You're the best, Tom."

I had a private mental chuckle at the source of the line that had amused her so. She'd pitch a screeching fit if she knew it came from a muggle woman, witty as hell though that woman might be. But that was Wallie — predictably prejudiced. Very manipulable. I let her lean her head on my shoulder before continuing. "So now, what's all the fuss?"

"It's Abraxas. At least, what they said about him, that he's...that he's...," I felt her flush, "...that he's just trying to get up my skirt." She took a quick breath, and forged on. "That he doesn't really care about me."

"Well," I inhaled thoughtfully, "he's a boy and you _are_ a dish, Wallie doll."

She sighed and smiled into my shoulder. "He's a boy with the Malfoy family fortune at his back, Tom. You wouldn't believe how my mother's been on my case since he started showing any interest."

"I might. I've met your mother."

She snorted indelicately. "And it's not like he has much else going for him besides his looks and the Malfoy name. He's so _boring_ , Tom. Always bragging about what new thing his Daddy's acquired from that _awful_ Borgin and Burkes."

"Oh?"

"Dark artifacts, or so he claims." She rolled her eyes. "Says they're known for it, but all I've ever seen there are scrubby books and crusty shriveled hands and such."

 _That's because you don't know how to look, Wallie doll._ "Rather unlikely, then?"

She snorted again. "I'll say! And you know what else is _rather unlikely_? The Malfoy family receiving secret communications from Grindelwald. Like his father's Grindelwald's second-in-command or something!" She paused. "He only whips that one out when we're alone. Probably to get under my skirt."

We both snorted then, for entirely different reasons.

 _Who would be impressed by someone being second after all?_ That business about Grindelwald was a crock, of course. Abraxas would never say such a thing out loud if it were true. But the bit about Borgin and Burkes...now _that_ was interesting. Certainly credible - they dealt with quite the clientele.

Worth pursuing.


	2. Abiding

**Abiding**

* * *

 _Written for a Hogwarts is Home lj challenge involving any character working as a carnie. This is most definitely an AU sort of thing._

* * *

Tom Riddle, Jr. glared at the passersby.

The man next to him elbowed him sharply, and he shifted his glare leftwards.

The man was distinctly unimpressed. "If you scowl at the marks, they'll never pay their money to come inside, now will they? It's meant to be a funhouse. Full of _fun_." He widened his eyes and smirked, showing yellowed teeth. "C'mon now, entice them in. I know you have it in you."

Tom arched an eyebrow.

"I've seen you with the ladies, Tommy boy. Just slip a little of that sparkle in your call, and you'll have them falling over themselves to get in this here funhouse."

Tom blinked slowly, disdainfully.

"Or do you want me to report back to that Wizengamot group about how _uncooperative_ you're being? Unrepentant-like." The man's grin was toothsome.

Tom flexed at the mental shackles that bound his magic. Insidious things. But imperfect. He needed just a bit more time to slide through their cracks and slip away.

He gave a flippant bow, a more flippant hand gesture, and then turned back to the main walkway, his smile dazzling and his voice filled with resonant luster. "Step right this way, ladies and gentleman, right this way to the most wonderful funhouse you've ever laid your eyes upon..."


	3. Eye of the Beholder

**Eye of the Beholder**

 _Tom Riddle's perspective on who he is and what he does, before being thwarted the first time by his unintended horcrux with Harry Potter. Written for a challenge with the theme of "perseverance"._

* * *

It is a quest, and quests are not without difficulty. Any good Gryffindor knows that.

I was almost sorted into Gryffindor actually. The Hat had very particular opinions about someone with my temperament and impetuosity, my focused passion. _You could be very, very good there. You could fit well, with the strengths you could develop._

But I had wanted more than very, very good. I had wanted great. Greater than. The Greatest, in fact.

I wanted to never be at the mercy of fools again.

 _Perhaps Ravenclaw, then,_ it had whispered silkily. _Plenty of brilliant minds there. Or Hufflepuff, with its core tenet of justice._

At age eleven, I had cocked an ironic eyebrow and hissed in Parseltongue, _I will rule them all._

 _Alright then_ , it had said.

It's a fine quest, really. But it has required sacrifices of me. As all quests require of their heroes.

Of course, I am not a hero, by nearly anyone's definition - at least, the narrow definition of hero. Which would likely explain why I have minions instead of sidekicks. Often incompetent minions, at that.

One notable exception is Bellatrix, really - my beautifully manipulable, powerful Bella. The set of her eyes speaks of unsullied adoration despite my physical disfigurements. And Nagini, too, who is _mine_ like no other. Snakes value what is powerful and useful.

We always have.

Those with ability were meant to rule those without it. It is the natural law, and my brave new world will cull the useless - Muggle and wizard alike, including most of my current followers - from the ranks of power and influence. There will be justice and efficiency and harmony, and I will be there to guide the world as it should be.

It is for the Greater Good, and it simply takes time.

Interestingly, there was a Muggle who forged Britain into a thundering hammer back when I was younger, against all odds, leading the nation to a victory that resounded through the years. _Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm,_ he had said.

He was right. If Churchill was still alive, I would plan to include him in the governing of the Muggles once my rule was established. So few of our kind bother to look beyond the confines of the wizarding world to see greatness wherever it might shine, to try to harness it. A terrible lapse in the current educational system, really.

Life is imperfect. Churchill is dead.

I am not.

I will make it so I will never be.

I will carry on. And, with the proper enthusiasm, I will succeed.


	4. Inductive Reasons

**Inductive Reasons**

 _Voldemort considers Snape's request to spare Lily._

* * *

"At Hogwarts, she was my equal in potions, my lord. Slughorn recognized what a truly a valuable resource she is. Destroy the boy and her husband, but consider what use she could be to this enterprise." Snape fell silent as he awaited my response, his eyes unreadable though his right thumb twitched slightly.

Classic tell of his. He was clearly distraught over this woman, though he made a compelling point about her talents. Slughorn didn't suffer the useless gladly.

I was somewhat fixated on her myself. Lily Potter née Evans. Most curious sensation, to have my thoughts spiral of their own accord to someone else. I had often contemplated why that was so. She was a very accomplished witch, but then, so was Bella. Very beautiful, but again, Bella. And so on. Really, only two things stood out in contrast.

One: Despite her brilliance, she disagreed with me sufficiently to openly defy me. That behavior stoked an unfamiliar burn in me, something similar to the satisfaction and release I felt upon conquest, but clearly distinct and...unfinished. Of course, her behavior was somewhat explicable, considering the second difference.

She was a Muggleborn. As such, she naturally opposed my selective approach. And really, she provided a conspicuous counterexample to my basic premise. I had my suspicions about that, actually - squibs from many noble houses had gone off into the Muggle population. It was more than likely she was a half-blood. In fact, it was something I would like to discuss with her. A sound method for identifying lost bloodlines in the Muggle population would be eminently useful for gathering my wizarding flock home.

Ah, there was a third difference as well.

"She has terrible taste in men, Severus."

He blinked hard, unused to levity from me. I noted this, intending to use it more often.

"Perhaps that can be remedied in time. I will spare her if I can."


	5. It Makes Good Scents

**It Makes Good Scents**

 _Tom Riddle smells Amortentia for the first time._

 _Author's note: I tried to resist the pun in the title, but I simply couldn't._

* * *

I noted the mother-of-pearl sheen and the spiraling steam of my Amortentia with satisfaction, my lips flicking up in a half-smile. Slughorn would notice shortly and extol my potioneering virtues to the rest of the class, but in the meantime, I could discretely investigate the potion's scent.

I'd always wondered what I would smell, imprinted as the potion was by each experiencer's own psyche. I wafted the steam gently towards myself and inhaled. _Tell me about myself, little potion._

The layered scent incited a visceral reaction of warmth and pleasure, so much so that I forgot for a moment to identify the individual scents. Dangerous. Intriguingly so. I filed that away for future reference and turned my attention to cataloging.

Mmm...fresh parchment. One of my strongest Hogwarts-based scents. The Muggle world has nothing like it. Ah, and...wintergreen with a touch of firewood? The soap from the Prefects Bathroom that I favored, which could only be found in that marbled monstrosity. I loved striding through those doors. Every single time.

But there was one more scent in there...ocean spray with a touch of mold, as if from a cave. It took me a moment to place it. Once I did, I rolled the memory of Dennis and Amy in my mind, remembering how those miscreants from the orphanage with their better-than-thou attitude had cowered before me. Preposterous that they could think themselves equal to me, let alone better.

My smile curved wider. And apparently caught Slughorn's attention.

"Well done, Tom! The first as usual. And it smells di- _vine._ "

I inclined my head at a respectful angle. "Thank you, Professor. I think so, too."


	6. Observe

**Observe**

 _Tom Riddle counsels Abraxas on the matter of a girl. Written for the HiH prompt of "I said, let her/him go!"_

* * *

Abraxas turned to stare at me, finally tearing his eyes away from the rather shapely backside of the girl who was stiffly marching away from us. "What do you mean, _let her go_? Tom, she knows about us now." His mouth twisted. "I thought she'd be for it, I thought she'd be _excited_ about it, about the whole vision of it, about our plan, about..." He flushed furiously.

"About you?" I suggested.

He glared at me, futilely attempting to master his expression.

 _Ah, Abraxas. Such pride. It makes you so easy to understand._ "She'll be back. Give it a night, old chap."

He frowned, turning back to catch a last glimpse of her. "How can you be so sure?"

I steepled my fingers together. "She looked at you no less than twelve times for three seconds or longer during our five minute conversation, suggesting considerable interest. Each time, her pupils dilated, indicating arousal. Her breathing sped up whenever you spoke, the corners of her mouth flicked upwards seven times - all times when you were speaking - and she walked away from us at the very best angle to display her figure." A half-smile flicked my own lips up. "She likes you very much, Abraxas. We simply overwhelmed her. She'll sleep on it and most likely 'accidentally' run into you in the morning."

Abraxas's mouth hung slightly open for a few moments before he clamped it shut. "Right. This is why you're the leader."

"Mmmhmm."


	7. Break

**Break**

 _Young Tom Riddle realizes several unpleasant truths. Written for the challenge of "goodbye"._

* * *

"But surely I can stay here during the summer break. Just like during the winter holidays." The words spilled from me, an unfiltered tide of ugly desperation. I focused on Dumbledore, who was hovering to the right of Headmaster Dippet. I knew Dumbledore was the one I had to convince really, and his sense of nobility responded to children in need.

Well, I was bloody well in need, and I let it show. I practically vibrated with a terrifying need to not go back to the orphanage.

Something complex stirred behind Dumbledore's eyes, but it was Dippet who spoke. "Professor Dumbledore tells me your home is rather...austere, Mr. Riddle, but I'm afraid your request is quite irregular. All students go home over the summer."

 _Home._ I nearly choked on the irony, but managed to master my voice. "Sir, please, Hogwarts feels like my home now."

"Yes, of course it does, Mr. Riddle." Dippet reached over to pat my hand. "We aim to make Hogwarts as welcoming as possible, especially to first years. But you'll want to be with your own people for a little while at least." It was a perfunctory remark meant to soothe an agitated eleven-year-old and it rang with dismissal.

I turned my attention back to Dumbledore, willing him to understand, to help me. _Please don't cast me out. You know what it's like there. Please._

It was Dippet who spoke, however, giving me a paternal wink. "Don't worry, lad. Professor Dumbledore has volunteered to pop in on you from time to time."

I knew then with clarity as sudden as a slap that it was Dumbledore who had orchestrated my forced return. Dippet was malleable, and would bend to whichever will blew strongest. And Dumbledore, for God knows that reason, thought it best to send me back. For my own good, _somehow._ For the greater good, _somehow._

I swallowed my helpless fury. _Lesson learned: Rely on no one, not even here. They will abandon you._ I turned my gaze to Dumbledore, mustering an appropriate sheen of gratitude. "Very kind of you, sir. Thank you. I'll look forward to your visits."

"As will I, Mr. Riddle." He twinkled benignly at me, the slippery bastard. "Goodbye for now."

"Goodbye, sir, Headmaster Dippet." I nodded with the appropriate amount of politeness to each, turned on my heel, and left.


	8. About Face

**About Face**

 _After his first horcrux, Tom Riddle takes stock of its effect on him and makes a calculated strategic change. A what-if moment._

* * *

Horcruxes, it turns out, are insidious in a way I didn't anticipate. The decision to make one, given Myrtle's death, was quick, I'll grant you that. But not something I was unprepared for. Never let a good catastrophe go to waste and all. I had done the ritual correctly. The first step towards immortality was complete.

I just didn't like what it did to me.

In the subsequent catalogue of my sense of self, that gentle probing of my mindset, things were...slightly ajar. Imperceptibly ragged. And undeniably irreparable.

It was a subtle thing, but it was enough. I didn't get as far as I had by ignoring evidence, however unpleasant. It was time for a strategic pivot.

Which is how I found myself face-to-face with the one who was previously my mortal enemy. A true Slytherin is nothing if not flexible.

Dumbledore waited patiently for me to speak, acutely interested in why _I_ had requested a meeting with _him_. I was about to do something brilliantly reckless, which would certainly appeal to his Gryffindor nature.

"Sir? I don't know how else to say this. I...need your help."

He steepled his fingers. "How so, Tom?"

"I'm in very serious trouble. And I think you're the only one who can understand the situation."

He arched an eyebrow at me, twinkling slightly. "Not Professor Slughorn? Or perhaps Headmaster Dippet?"

"No, sir." I steadied my breathing, holding his gaze. "You...know what it's like to...to want..." I looked at him, raw truth bleeding into my eyes.

"Greatness?"

"Yes," I breathed. "People look to you to be their savior. You're greater than Grindelwald _already_ because people will remember your name with reverence and his with his horror. And you're still...whole."

His eyes didn't twinkle anymore. "What an interesting choice of words, Tom. What exactly have you done?"

I let my breathing hitch. "Don't you know?"

He sighed softly. "I suspected."

"I need your help, sir."

"To do what, Tom? That's the question."

"To get out of this pit I've dug for myself. To do things _your_ way."

"And why would you want to do that?"

"Because it works, sir. Because your way wins."

"Does it?"

"It has the best chance of success."

"My way isn't very compatible with your nature, Tom."

I gambled on a whispered rumor. "From what I've heard, it wasn't very compatible with yours either. You learned."

He blinked slowly at me. "Perhaps I did. At great cost. What would it cost you, Tom?"

"I propose we find out, sir."

His eyes lit with something unreadable as he leaned forward, studying me. "Perhaps we should, Tom, perhaps we should indeed."


	9. And the Moral of That Is

**And the Moral of That Is**

 _AU, where Voldemort remained sane and took over the Ministry. Written for the prompt: "I have a story about war."_

* * *

"Lord Minister, can you give our readers your opinion about the current war?" The reporter blinked shyly at me, a certain hungry glint in her eye.

Well, I could hardly blame her for that glint. I respected ambition, after all, and my opinion was a prized thing.

Ah, but _war..._ I was asked several times in my youth about my opinion on war. The conflict with Grindelwald was omnipresent, of course - and his sloppiness was simply appalling. I'm not sure what happened to the man, to be honest. His idea was elegant, if crude. The execution...well, enough said about that.

At Hogwarts, history was a lesser-loved subject by design or possibly by sheer incompetence. Endless recitations of the minutiae of battles and treaties, and precious little on the _why_ of it. And certainly nothing on the _how_. The larger picture, shall we say, was given rather short shrift. Not like it is now. Now we prepare our children better. And we never, ever abandon them.

But what came through to me after all that useless historical fluff was simply this: _Wars are for winning._

I believe Conan, of fictional Muggle barbarian heritage, also had something related to say about what's best in life: _Crush your enemies. See them driven before you. Hear the lamentations of their women._ I'm sure the reporter in front of me would have fallen off her chair to hear me quoting Muggle fiction. I smiled to myself at the thought. It's wise to be unpredictable.

"Lord Minister Voldemort? The war?"

"Ah, yes...well, let's hope it ends soon, hmmm?" _With lamentations from their side._


	10. Pressure

**Pressure**

 _Tom and Bellatrix share a moment early in their acquaintance. Written for the prompt "under pressure"._

* * *

"Why do you…" The breath came out of Bella perilously close to a sob as she curled into herself. "Why do you _do_ that, my Lord?"

She shifted away from me as I sat down next to her. It was a small, involuntary thing, and it simply would not do.

I gathered her into my arms and laid her head against my chest. "Hush now, my lovely Bella." My fingers stroked through her hair, sliding through the dark locks with practiced ease. I leaned in until my breath was hot against her ear. "Think how well you performed. How beautifully you defended yourself. How exquisitely you accomplished your objective with nary a wasted motion."

I felt the tension sing through her as she struggled against herself. My praise was always sincere with her, and she knew it. And she craved it. Just as she craved my touch. But this lesson had been particularly painful for her. Being abandoned by me midway through our ambiguously romantic outing, left to improvise a plan against three not-unskilled aurors to extract an object we needed.

She had been glorious. Just as I had hoped.

I kissed the top of her head. "Would you have ever known you were capable of such things if you hadn't been put in that situation?"

I felt her quiet in my arms, felt her truly consider it. "No," she said at last.

I resumed stroking her hair. "People respond differently to pressure. Some break. But some…" I trailed off.

"What do some do?" she whispered.

I lifted her face to me, turning it to kiss first one temple and then the other. "Some are forged into diamonds, lovely Bella."


	11. Just For You

**Just For You**

 _Voldemort gives a gift to Bellatrix to bind her closer to him. Written in response to the prompt "special delivery"._

* * *

"Yes, my Lord?" Bellatrix's eyes lifted to mine with that spark of irrepressible hope that was uniquely hers for me. No matter how many times I dodged it, redirected it, or otherwise gave her all the subtle signals of This Can Never Be, she held onto it with an unshakable faith that was truly breathtaking.

There was more than one reason why I liked Bellatrix. You just didn't find that capacity for dogged loyalty every day. That kind of loyalty, you cultivated. I took her hand in mine, noting her sudden inhalation. I so rarely touched anyone voluntarily these days, and she knew it. "I've brought you a gift."

Girlish delight filled her eyes. "A gift? What for?"

I smiled. "Because I thought it would make you happy."

The sea change of resurgent hope swept through her. It was utterly fascinating to watch. She was actually speechless.

I stroked a finger along the back of her hand. "Don't you want to see your gift?"

She swallowed, gaining control of the emotions rushing beneath her skin. "Yes, of course. Please."

I lifted the concealing charm behind me with a nonverbal Finite, but left the Petrificus Totalus intact, except for the eyes. I didn't have to turn to know those eyes were swiveling around in abject terror and despair.

Bellatrix's eyes widened and then positively sparkled. It's always thrilling to be able to exact revenge on those who have wronged us, no matter how distant in the past the offense might have been. It was as true for Bellatrix as it was for me.

My smile widened. "Don't you want to open your present?"

"My Lord?"

"I'm told you've been anxious to practice the Sectumsempra modification we designed. To see how narrow the strips of flesh are that would be removed, and how long a subject could actually withstand such treatment."

"I would." Her dark eyes burned with that splendid mix of desire, curiosity, and bloodlust, fixed on the figure behind me.

As I said, there's more than one reason I liked Bellatrix. "Shall I stay or shall I go while you investigate?"

She licked her lips. "I'd...appreciate your observations, my Lord."

I patted her hand gently and moved to stand just behind her. "Very well. I'll be right here."

Her breath was coming in quickened gasps. "My Lord...I...I-"

"I know, Bella." My lips hovered just behind her ear. "Now let me see you enjoy your present."


	12. Kindling

**Kindling**

 _Voldemort begins his recruitment of Bellatrix. Written for the prompt "hope, faith, love"._

* * *

It's the hungry, needful spark in her eyes that first catches my attention in the crowded morass of would-bes and mights all around me. Lithe and supple, her eyes bit into you as she looked at you, simmering with an unspoken hope for recognition.

Every god needs his true believers, his faithful, the ones who will love him no matter what. More precious than gems were the ones who could be something gorgeously powerful besides.

 _Sweet vicious girl, you are precisely who I'm looking for._

I stopped in front of her, drawing just near enough to invade her personal space. I noted the dilating of her pupils and her sudden inhalation. Good. Very good. "What's your name?"

"Bella, sir."

"A delicate nickname. You're not a delicate girl, though, are you?"

Her eyes glittered. "Not as such, sir."

"What's your true name?"

"Bellatrix." Her nose wrinkled ever so slightly, the tips of her mouth pulling down just a little.

"You don't care for it?"

"It's...harsh. Not very beautiful."

I smiled. "It's a warrior's name."

Her breath caught.

I leaned forward until my mouth hovered next to her ear, my voice dropping to the low registers of intimacy. "Would you like to be a warrior with me, Bellatrix? I could show you...oh, _such_ things. Things of strength, and will, and power. Beautiful things that would suit you utterly."

Her heartbeat thrummed between us, waiting, cresting.

"Do you believe me?" I whispered.

The word sighed out of her. " _Yes_."

"Excellent." I drew back and took her hand in mine, raising it to my lips. As I brushed my mouth across her skin, I cast a silent, wandless Orchideous-Avis-Locomotor construct that caused spiked feathers to spill between us on a gentle whirlwind.

Her eyes widened in realization and acute interest.

"You're going to love what I have to teach you, Bellatrix."


	13. Once Upon

**Once Upon**

 _Tom first encounters Dumbledore's perspective on love. Written for the prompt "learn something new"._

* * *

I hated that orphanage, and Dumbledore knew it. I shook my head, letting the edges of my desperation show. "I don't understand, sir."

"I know you don't, Tom. But I promise it will be for the best."

I looked up at this man who I'd once considered my savior, the man who understood the great and wonderful things I could do, and who could do greater and more wonderful things himself. He was a blithe wall of good intentions with as much give as an orphanage bed.

I sighed softly, shading my voice with frustration. "It's just that you're saying the same things that the other adults always said. And they always lied."

He twinkled down at me. "Always?"

I stared back. "Always."

"Well, these things are relative."

My lips twitched briefly as I arched an eyebrow. "Are there any that aren't?"

That surprised a smile out of him for some reason. "I know of at least one. Would you like to hear it?"

"Please."

He leaned in close to me, his voice dropping into the timbre of secrets. " _Love is the most powerful force in this world._ "

I blinked at him. No, this wasn't a patronizing ruse. He actually meant it. And he was no idiot. Or at least, if he was, he was the most accomplished one I'd ever met.

My thoughts riffled and whirled. There seemed to be two possibilities. One: There was something to this emotion I kept reading about, though I'd seen no evidence to support that idea so far. Two: Dumbledore was in fact the most accomplished idiot I'd ever met.

Either way, this merited investigation. I nodded at him, letting my consideration show on my face. "Thank you, sir...that's good to know."

He beamed at me. "You're quite welcome, Tom. Now, off you go, hmmm? And take a lemon sherbet on your way out."


	14. Little Things

**Little Things**

 _Tom instructs Bella on the utility of subtlety. Written for a prompt of the same title, "Little Things"._

* * *

We both stared at the brilliant slashes of scarlet and other murkier colors currently dripping across the tablecloth, with the man's innards arranged like an obscene bouquet.

I sighed. "I've told you before, Bella. It's the little things one notices." Bella was always one for grand flourishes. That was going to get her into trouble one day.

She, of course, was doing her best to master her disappointment, and her voice was soft as shadows. "I thought you'd like it, my lord."

I laid my hands on her shoulders and leaned down until my mouth was a breath from her ear. "I never said I didn't."

I felt the jolt go through her, that sudden intake of air as she puzzled out my contradictory feedback. She would solve it sooner or later, whether by reason or sheer reinforcement learning. We had time, Bella and I.

Her shoulders softened beneath my hands. "What should I have done in this case?"

"I'm so glad you asked. Do you recall that set of diamond cufflinks he always wore?"

She peered at the mess on the table. "I think he's still wearing them."

"Precisely. He was quite attached to them. Imagine if they had gone missing. How would he have felt?"

She paused, frowning slightly. "Distraught, I suppose."

"Mmmhmm. Now imagine you cast a series of overwrought Aparecium spells twined with Confundo and a dash of Bedazzling Hex, such that he saw those cufflinks everywhere, always thinking other men were wearing them. But always being so very wrong. So much embarrassment from the accusations he'd inevitably lob, such self-recrimination, such _doubts_ of his own sanity."

She cocked her head, interested. "And then?"

I smiled. "And when he was sufficiently broken, you would give those cufflinks to me and I would wear them to a very public function, in full view of him."

There was a sharp intake of breath as she considered further. "He'd never dare say a word."

"But he would suffer, wouldn't he?"

"He would."

I squeezed her shoulders gently. "So you see, Bella, little things."

"I see, my lord." She nodded once, emphatically. "I'll do better next time."

I kissed the top of her head. "I know you will. In the meantime, fetch me those cufflinks, would you? Wouldn't want them to go to waste."


	15. Great Expectations

**Great Expectations**

 _Tom Riddle anticipates how his patronus will respond to him after his first horcrux. Written for the prompt "Expecto Patronum"._

* * *

If I were a villain caricature, I would have been cackling with gleeful anticipation and tapping my fingers together. I simply couldn't wait to see how my patronus would look at me now.

 _Nagini._

She was a glorious Ukrainian Ironbelly with a wingspan that beggared the imagination. Powerful, beautiful, and she gave the unmistakable impression that she would as cheerfully eat your face off as look at you if you annoyed her.

I had, of course, adored her on sight.

The feeling had only intensified when she had first whispered her name to me in that gravelly voice that drew across my skin with the barest flicker of heat, a shadow of true dragon fire.

She was more wizard's familiar than patronus when it came to sentience, though I had heard that wasn't supposed to be possible with patronuses. Of course, many things weren't supposed to be possible. That's why I did them. Nagini understood perfectly - she always did. She would understand this latest venture with the horcrux, and she would be….oh, so very, very proud. She was always pushing me to do more, to _be_ more. Whatever would she say when she found out what I'd accomplished….

I honed my will to just the right point, relying on the sensuously potent memory of Nagini now to summon her. " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Only silence and darkness answered me.

I blinked hard. That wasn't right.

I formed the outline of her wingtips in my mind's eyes, the fierce pleasure of her smile. " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Not even a spark. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

In a fit of panic, I snapped through a battery of other complex spells, which all worked perfectly.

And then, again: " _Expecto Patronum!"_

Absolutely nothing.

The absence of her was a gnawing ache growing with every breath, tightening my chest and jaw past bearing.

I suspected the horcrux. Something about it was interfering with the patronus spell. Unless I determined what that interference was and remedied it, I knew with perfect certainty that I would never see Nagini again.

I closed my eyes and took a deep, slow breath, shucking off the emotional turmoil of her loss like a snakeskin. _Nagini. I will find you again. One way or another, even if I have to incarnate you myself._

I opened my eyes, my jaw relaxed and my hands loose at my sides. It was good to have goals.


	16. Crossing Over

**Crossing Over**

 _Tom Riddle manages the emotions of a young Bellatrix._

* * *

The sobs were breaking between her fingers - broken, furious things. I sometimes forgot that Bellatrix was so young and still irritatingly vulnerable to guilt-based manipulation. At any rate, this simply would not do. I gathered her into my arms, and moved my mouth to her ear. "Cruel, was she?"

Bellatrix nodded, her tears wetting my chest.

I sighed inwardly. I'd get the shirt cleaned later. For now, I stroked a finger gently down Bellatrix's arm. " _She jests at scars that never felt a wound,_ Bella." I smiled to myself. Bellatrix would recoil in utter confusion if she knew those words were adapted from a muggle playwright. But I'd learned not to turn my nose up at useful things, no matter their origins. Some secrets you kept to yourself.

Bella choked down a shuddering breath.

I ran my fingers slowly through her tangled mane, knowing I had her attention. "Do you know what will happen to her, Bella? Do you know what we will do to her, you and I?"

Her voice was soft as ash. "No, my Lord."

I let my fingers brush lightly over the curse scars on her back old and new, in the secret, hidden places she'd only ever shown to me. "My fierce and fearsome Bella, why don't you think on it, hmmm?"


	17. Timely

**Timely**

 _Post-War Hermione acquires an unusual and influential pen pal. Written for the prompt "Letters from Hogwarts"._

* * *

I stared at the little scroll wedged into the nook for a good ten seconds before grabbing it. By definition, the Room of Requirement always had what you required. I hadn't quite known what it would do with me thinking about how unbearably lonely I was. It seemed a bit much for it to spontaneously generate a companion.

But perhaps it could manage companion _ship_. I unrolled the scroll.

 _To Whoever Might Find This and Care,_

 _Given my prior experience at Hogwarts, this is likely a letter to no one. But I find journaling to be helpful for organizing my thoughts. Thus, this letter. I can at least pretend someone else might understand the isolation I feel._

 _Hogwarts was supposed to be the place where I finally fit in. Where what I am is normal. Where I would be accepted._

 _The disappointment, as you may imagine, was severe. The Wizarding World at large seems no better._

 _Patience, you might counsel. But how long should I wait? Every year, I go farther, delve further, become stronger. And every year, I am even more alone._

 _Perhaps respect is all there ever is, if you can even keep that. Perhaps friendship is simply a lie like all the rest._

 _-T_

I shivered uncontrollably for a long moment. Then I picked up a quill, laid out a fresh sheet of parchment, and began to write.

 _Dear T,_

 _I know. Everything that you wrote, I know. The more brilliant you are, the harder you try, the worse it is. They never really accept you._

 _I have friends. I think. I thought._

 _Well, I have respect, anyway. They respect the hell out of me. I'm just not sure they like me very much._

 _It hurts to know that, after all we've been through together._

 _-H_

I put the scroll back in the nook, not really sure what I expected. But then, hope didn't have to be logical.

...

When I returned the next day, my scroll was gone and a new one rested in its place. I grabbed at it with hungry fingers.

 _Dear H,_

 _I don't know how my letter found you, but I'm glad it did. It sounds like we've had similar experiences here. When do you visit the Room? I've never seen anyone else here before._

 _Which house are you in? I've always wondered if the isolation is worse in Slytherin where I am, because of my background. My pedigree is viewed as...somewhat lacking._

 _-T_

Well, I certainly sympathized with that.

 _Dear T,_

 _I think there are a number of people who know about the Room of Requirement. We used it during the war quite a bit. But it's been out of use the last year since things have calmed down._

Did I dare...yes, yes, I did. Let's see how real this companion was.

 _When do you use the Room?_

 _Gryffindor isn't much more accepting than Slytherin, though they think they are. My background is also "somewhat lacking", war heroine or no war heroine. I'm still an outsider. And I don't know if I'll ever really get in._

 _-H_

 _..._

 _Dear H,_

 _Forgive me, but which war are you a heroine of? I had heard things were stirring on the Continent, but wasn't aware there had been significant conflicts._

 _Meanwhile, I'm sorry to say your account of Gryffindor doesn't surprise me in the least. I had vaguely hoped for better, given their sanctimonious Head of House. But prejudice is as prejudice does. I get so sick of it, too._

 _-T_

Sanctimonious? I'd heard McGonagall described as many things, but sanctimonious was new. Dumbledore fit that bill far better...oh. Oh, I wonder...

 _Dear T,_

 _I'm beginning to think something particularly interesting is going on. If you don't mind me asking, what year is it for you? Also, my name is Hermione. What's yours?_

 _-Hermione_

 _..._

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _My name is Tom._

 _It's 1941. Here. What is it where you are?_

 _-Tom_

Oh, Room of Requirement, you wouldn't. Would you?

 _Dear Tom,_

 _It's 1998 here. There's been a major war, and our side won, as you might surmise since I'm here to tell you about it._

 _Your last name wouldn't happen to be Riddle, would it?_

 _-Hermione_

 _..._

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _It is...how do you know me, all the way in 1998? I must have succeeded in fame, I suppose._

 _-Tom_

Sweet Merlin. Room of Requirement, you little devil. Well, here was an opportunity for change if ever there was. Succeeded in fame was certainly one way to put it.

 _Dear Tom,_

 _You could say that. Everyone certainly knows who you are._

 _Given what I know, I must ask: Are you currently pondering world domination? If so, I might have some recommendations for you._

 _-Hermione_

 _..._

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Do tell. I'm agitating for change and Wizarding culture is so abominably slow-moving. I'm losing patience with it all._

 _-Tom_

You and me both, Tom. But war didn't seem to work out so well for either of us. Also, those horcruxes...

 _Dear Tom,_

 _Right - I certainly hear you on the frustration. That said, a few pieces of advice:_

 _1: Horcruxes. Simply don't._

 _2: Consider whether you truly want to go with the blood purity banner. Could be dicey with your background._

 _-Hermione_

 _..._

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _The horcrux option did seem particularly useful. Are there specific things I should watch for, though?_

 _Also, I do hear you on the blood purity. It seems the easiest way to rally the aristocracy who have all the power, however. Do you know of an effective alternative?_

 _-Tom_

I tapped my quill against my chin. It was important to phrase this right.

 _Dear Tom,_

 _I think it really depends on your goals. What do you want after world domination? That is, what's the point of it? You may be able to get that without the side road of blood and death, which tends to cow one part of the populace into submission and make the rest rebellious. Not so good for long term effects._

 _As for the horcruxes...well, you really have to be mindful of your health. And I mean that physically, mentally, and emotionally. It's damaging on multiple levels to splinter a soul. I can guarantee you won't like the results of resurrection-via-horcrux either._

 _-Hermione_

 _..._

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I see...well, to be frank, I'm torn between security for all magical kind and the advancement of the science of magic. Being in charge seems the most efficient way to accomplish both._

 _And I'll keep that in mind about the horcruxes. Thank you for the warning._

 _-Tom_

Aha, progress.

 _Dear Tom,_

 _I think our goals are fairly similar. While not quite as quick, have you considered the Minister of Magic route? You could effect a number of changes, and the population would love you for it. Less death, more change for the better._

 _-Hermione_

 _..._

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I do see your point. But I'd still have the Wizengamot to deal with. Though perhaps by the time I'm Minister, I'll have accumulated enough influence to outflank them?_

 _-Tom_

That's right, Tom. Let's use that frightening intellect a different way, shall we? You'll make such a fine politician. And your goals right now are so sensible.

 _Dear Tom,_

 _Precisely. So I'd say cultivate all the people who are desperate to cultivate the dashing, brilliant young orphan boy, and get yourself on the road to Minister-hood._

 _-Hermione_

 _..._

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Sound advice. Moreover, it sounds like it has a better chance of working out than my current trajectory._

 _Was it very horrible, the way I went before?_

 _-Tom_

Oh, Tom. If only you knew.

 _Dear Tom,_

 _Yes, it was. For everyone. Especially you. I can tell you details if you want, but it will be...painful._

 _-Hermione_

 _..._

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _No need. Here's hoping it works out better this time around._

 _Hermione, what will this do to your timeline? Will this have any adverse effects on you?_

 _-Tom_

I wish I knew, Tom. But it has to be better than what happened this time around. It has to be.

 _Dear Tom,_

 _I have no idea. But I suppose we'll find out._

 _I wish you well with all my heart._

 _-Hermione_

 _..._

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Tell me your full name._

 _If you're still there when I get there, wait for me. I'll find you._

 _-Tom_

Sweet. You'd think he had a crush on me.

 _Dear Tom,_

 _My name is Hermione Jean Granger. I'm a Muggleborn, and I was born in 1979. I'll be here if I can be._

 _-Hermione_

There. If that didn't steer things better, I don't know what would. There was an odd shimmer after I placed the scroll in the nook, and an intense vertigo hit me. Well, here it was - consequences. I surely had them coming. But it would be worth it.

I sat down hard on a particularly plush chair which I didn't recall being in the Room of Requirement.

"Miss Granger? Are you alright?" A secretary sitting at a very fine-looking reception desk was looking at me with concern.

I blinked, warring memories sliding into place with a strange spiraling click. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Lovely. The Minister will see you now."

Oh yes, yes he most certainly would. We were on very good terms. "Lovely. Thank you."


	18. Birds of a Feather

**Birds of a Feather**

 _Tom Riddle is called to Professor Dumbledore's office for a little chat. Written in response to a prompt about Fawkes the Phoenix._

* * *

My wand was humming. Nothing flashy, mind you, but most distinctly humming, as if it were...excited by something. Admittedly, I enjoyed its occasional spot of independence, but this was something new I hadn't noticed before.

"Mr. Riddle, are you alright?" Dumbledore's voice curled around me suddenly, filled with concern.

I controlled a yelp with some effort. "Sorry, sir. I was...distracted."

The phoenix that was perched behind him squawked, and I nearly yelped again. Bloody bird.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Fawkes, did you have something you wished to share?"

Fawkes tilted his head, one eye skewering me.

Oh, I _really_ didn't care for that bird.

Dumbledore reached a hand absently over to scratch Fawkes's head. "I see. Perhaps, Mr. Riddle, you're wondering why I asked you here?"

I nodded oh-so-politely. "I thought I was doing well in your Transfiguration class, sir."

"Oh, indeed you are. Quite well, in fact. You are, by all accounts, doing marvelously well in all your subjects."

I waited. I'd learned most people were anxious to fill silence, and would trip over their tongues to do so if you were simply patient.

Apparently, Dumbledore had learned this, too.

The silence stretched like taffy between us, and my wand would not stop _humming_ and that dratted phoenix would not stop _staring._ I broke first. "Then why did you ask to see me, sir?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Normally this would be something your Head of House might broach with you. But Horace seems...well, it seemed that I should inquire just in case."

My heart thundered in time with my wand's hum. "Sir?"

"Are you happy here, Tom?"

I stared at him.

"It's a simple enough question. Are you happy here?"

"I...I am, sir." The words spilled from me before I could stop them. "I love it here at Hogwarts. I wish…"

"Yes?"

I shook my head, knowing too much had already come out.

Fawkes suddenly flew to perch next to me, and gently picked at a strand of my hair. I froze, my wand humming more loudly than ever. _That bird…_

"Tom?" Dumbledore's voice broke through. "What is it that you wish?"

Well, perhaps now was a time to press my case. Truth was a fine tactic on occasion. I lifted my chin. "I wish I didn't have to go back to that Muggle orphanage every summer. It's...wretched in ways I can't begin to describe."

Twinkling, patronizing laughter gentle as spring rain rolled over me. "Surely it's not as bad as all that?"

In that moment, I hated him so very, very much.

Fawkes screeched and flew back behind Dumbledore.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at me.

I swallowed, pushing down the hatred. "You found me there, sir. You know what it's like."

"It's true that it's not the most welcoming of places. But adversity builds character, you know. It gives you the strength to do great things."

He thought he knew me so well, the condescending bastard. Well, perhaps he did, a little. "Then perhaps I shall do very great things, sir."

"Perhaps you will indeed, Mr. Riddle."


	19. Thicker Than Blood

**Thicker Than Blood**

 _Tom Riddle personally oversees Bella's marking. Written for the prompt "family"._

* * *

" _It hurts._ " Bella's voice hissed with pain as she curled against me.

I stroked a hand through her hair, losing my fingers in the fine strands at the nape of her neck as I felt the magic stretch between us, burrowing and twisting and forging just the right link. "It's meant to."

She sucked in several short, rapid breaths. "For this long?"

"It affects everyone differently."

"I can't...I can't _bear_ it." The words tumbled out of her like tears.

I tightened my grip on her hair and leaned in until my mouth was just above her ear. "You can."

She shook. "I _can't_."

"But you _are_." I pressed my lips to the delicate spot just below her ear. "Right this moment, you're bearing it." I brushed my lips along her jaw. "And this moment." Another heated press curving towards her mouth. "And this moment, too. You're bearing it, my fierce Bellatrix, and you _will_ bear it."

A spasm rocked her then, and she was suddenly still in my arms.

And there it was, the magic of my mark, coiling like liquid silk between us, perfect and waiting.

I kissed the top of her head and stroked gently down the tender spot on her arm. "There now. Welcome to the family."


	20. Say Your Right Words

**Say Your Right Words**

 _Tom Riddle encourages Bellatrix to start practicing the Unforgivable Curses. Written for the prompt "out of bounds"._

* * *

"Today, we practice the so-called Unforgivables."

Bellatrix stiffened, as if I'd said we'd be drowning kittens.

I smiled. "Why do you flinch?"

Fear and eagerness swarmed behind her eyes. "They're...out of bounds. You're never allowed to-"

I held a finger to her lips and leaned in, my voice soft as secrets. "Nothing is out of bounds for us."

She chewed on that for a moment, torn between her schooling and her desire.

"Besides," I continued, "did you really think these curses are out of bounds for everyone? Do you think Aurors don't know them? Do you think the Unspeakables don't bend them and twist them into new, exciting shapes?"

"They _do_?"

My lips quirked up briefly. "Well, the Unspeakables _should_. When I'm in charge, I'll make sure that research branch is fully operational." I paused, my jaw tightening. "The Aurors, however, I'm quite sure of. Trust me when I say they know _all_ about the Unforgivables."

She tilted her head to the side. "But the Aurors are…they're..."

I took her hands in mine. "The 'good' ones? Well, someone over there is practical. And if these little curses are good enough for Aurors, why should you fear to utter them? It doesn't make you bad, Bella. It doesn't make you evil." I squeezed her fingers lightly, feeling how cold they were. "It makes you smart. It makes you _win_ when you need to." My lips quirked up again. "Besides, haven't you ever wanted to say those words? Which curse have you found most forbidden?"

She swallowed.

I laughed softly, rubbing my thumbs across the tops of her hands. "The Killing Curse. Of course. _A-va-da Ke-da-vra._ "

She froze.

"Sweet Bella, the words do nothing if you don't mean them. Just harmless little syllables. Say them with me, won't you? _Avada Kedavra._ "

She mouthed them silently.

"Again. This time so I can hear them."

"A-a-av-vada. Ke-d-d-davra."

"Again."

"Avada Ke-d-davra."

"Stop stuttering. Say the words. You know them now. _Own_ them."

"Avada Kedavra!" She clapped her hands to her mouth in sudden horror.

I pushed her hands gently down and stepped so close that our breaths mingled. "The words do nothing without the intent behind them. But when you have the intent, the pronunciation must be perfect. It must be automatic, without conscious thought. The syllables must roll off your tongue," I moved my mouth to hover just above hers, "with the familiarity of a lover's kiss." I felt her mouth trembling below mine as I stepped back. "For that, you must practice them. Can you do that?"

Hunger rode in her eyes, bright and shining. "Yes."

I kissed her on the forehead, fully aware of how much she wanted my mouth on hers. "Marvelous."


	21. Let There Be Light

**Let There Be Light**

 _A young Tom Riddle has an insight about spellcraft. Written for the prompt "Lumos"._

* * *

"And then you say _Lumos_!" A white glow appeared at the end of the professor's wand. "Now you lot try. Remember: will, wand, and word!"

I glanced around me and then thought _Lumos._ My wand tip glowed red.

"Ah, look - well done, Tom!" He patted my shoulder. "A rare red hue, too. Five points to Slytherin."

I smiled. I'd made my wand tip glow with thought alone ever since I'd gotten it. But the specific word did help. Saying it out loud would probably help further.

I tucked that thought away and turned to assist the boy next to me.


	22. Girl Power

**Girl Power**

 _Voldemort helps Bellatrix make a grand entrance into the official Death Eater ranks._

* * *

I could feel them like tiny stars glittering inside my core, waiting for me in the next room. Some burned brighter than others, and the newest among their ranks burned brightest of all, just down the hall.

I was going to enjoy this. My little group needed a fresh perspective.

I pushed open the door with a silent Aberto and sat down at the head of the elegantly understated table. Ah, old money and their tastes. There were certain benefits from recruiting acolytes from that pool. "Gentleman, do be seated. We have some business."

I flicked a thought to my newest star and felt her spark to attention. The thrum of the connection echoed through me with sensuous precision, my call to her sliding between us like silk. The closer she drew, the tighter the velvet pressure of it, just this side of pleasure.

There were benefits to the Mark itself as well.

The door snicked open behind me.

Lucius Malfoy's face was the picture of aristocratic derision as he arched a dismissive blonde eyebrow. "This gathering is by invitation only, girl. Leave us."

Bellatrix bared her teeth at him. "I was invited."

Walden MacNair snorted. "Stupid girl, you couldn't possibly have been." He turned to me, a vicious light in his eyes. "My Lord, would you like me to remove this impudent chit for you? I can make it...enjoyable."

I let a small smile play across my lips. "I'm sure I'd enjoy seeing you try."

MacNair flushed. "My Lord?"

I tilted my head at Bellatrix. "Go on then, Walden. Remove her."

He'd raised his wand about halfway up before Bellatrix's wandless, wordless Severing Charm sliced his flexor tendon. His nerveless fingers dropped the wand with a clatter.

The rest of the room had frozen, staring at MacNair and his suddenly useless wand hand.

Bellatrix's smile was sweet as sugar. "I wouldn't try to use that hand anytime soon, if I were you."

I closed my eyes briefly, feeling the shock stretch through the rest of my acolytes, reverberating along their links to me in metallic harmony. MacNair's understated terror, Malfoy's adrenaline-saturated caution….delicious. A fine counterpoint to Bellatrix's gleeful vindication.

At last, Malfoy managed a faint "My Lord?"

I tapped my fingers together. "I keep telling you we have to expand our spell arsenal. Perhaps you'll now take the proposition more seriously. Consider this a demonstration of new possibilities."

MacNair cradled his wand hand, trying to get the fingers to move. "But, my Lord, why is _she_ here?"

Oh, the _fool_.

I closed my eyes briefly again and felt the confusion and anger swimming through the rest of them.

Make that _fools_ , plural. They didn't realize Bellatrix had cast that curse. Well, that was easily fixed.

I turned to Bellatrix. "Perhaps you'd enlighten them, my dear?"

Her rage was clear as a clarion bell and her voice came out as a simmering hiss that would have done a hellcat proud. " _She_ is here because _she_ is the only one responsive to our Lord's good ideas, it seems." She tilted her head like a raptor sighting its prey. "I heard you lot found wandless, wordless magic too _strenuous._ What was it my Lord said your excuse was — too much _effort_ for the potential gains?" She leaned forward and raised her sleeve to show off my lovely mark on her. It glowed for a moment, humming with our joint will. "Anyone else wish to try to remove me? I'll be more than happy to provide additional demonstrations."

Several mouths dropped open before they clamped shut again. MacNair raised his wand hand, half-pointing a shaking finger. "You _cannot_ be one of us. It's...it's…"

"It's what, Walden?" I asked, my voice dropping into low, gentle registers.

Malfoy flinched. He knew exactly what that tone presaged, and slammed MacNair's hand down so hard, the bones ground audibly. "It's clearly an excellent idea, my Lord." He stood and moved to pull out a chair for Bellatrix. "Welcome, my dear."

Bellatrix curtsied cheekily and took her seat.

I smiled at them, and only Bellatrix and Malfoy smiled back at me. It was good to know who your cleverest were. "Very good, then. Let's continue with our meeting, shall we?"


	23. Understood

**Understood**

 _A brief interlude in Tom's ongoing relationship with Bellatrix Black. Written for the prompt "shooting star"._

* * *

We both watched as the star trailed across the night sky, moonlight mixing with the slithering shadows of the Forbidden Forest.

I leaned in so that my mouth brushed against the sensitive spot below her ear. "You should make a wish."

Bellatrix tilted her head up to me. "Why, my Lord? I already have everything I want."

I laughed softly into her hair. "Do you?"

She gestured around her. "Lovely night, lovely company, lovely unicorn frozen just so in order to maximize exsanguination — what more could a girl want?"

"I hear tell some girls don't favor such," my teeth nipped her ear, "...messes."

"Well, my Lord," she shivered, "some girls clearly lack taste."

"But not you, Bella. You taste positively _divine_."

A shuddering breath left her. "I aim to please, my Lord."

"Oh, I know, my fierce Bellatrix. I know."


End file.
